We're Friends, Now

by Henry Hasse

the last toknow, or to care, that he had correlated some eight million miles ofserological data for the entrains of ECAIAC, a perfect record of not asingle unsolved case.

  And the penalty was in his eyes, if one cared to look beyond thethick-lensed glasses. No one ever did. They were remote eyes, a littlebewildered, a little hurt ... a mirror gone dull from times rememberedbut irretrievably lost.

  * * * * *

  Beardsley stepped onto the corridor slidewalk, coasted to the escalatorand rode it down. Still immersed in his thoughts, he pushed intoECAIAC's room ... _and again it happened_.

  So shockingly sudden, there was not even time for remonstrance athimself. The feeling hit him as always before, straight and unerring, asurging impact that smashed forward and stopped him in his tracks,literally paralyzed.

  He caught his breath convulsively. How often had he come here? And howoften had this happened, even when he'd sworn he wouldn't let it? Therewas something about the sight and sound and feel of ECAIAC that got tohim, that seeped beneath flesh and bone and into his brain and sent hissenses singing. Beardsley managed to gulp, as he observed the shinyblack colossus that filled the entire length of the ninety-foot room; adozen techs scurried around it, taking notes, attentive to the flashinglights in red-and-green and the faint clicking of thousands of relaysthat rose in susurration.

  But more than that arose. It was something that pervaded the room, not apulsing but a _presence_, a sort of snapping intangible intelligencethat reached beyond the audible and sheared at Beardsley's nerve-ends.

  And it hadn't been there a moment before. That was the shocking thing.Beardsley knew that it _knew_! It was sentient, it was alive and awareand waiting, and it was listening.

  As always, it knew that _he_ had entered.

  Beardsley gulped again, stood frozen for half a minute. None of thetechs seemed to notice; they had often chided him about it, but he wasused to that now. At last he broke the spell and made his legs move,feeling cold sweat as he hurried along the length of ECAIAC towardArnold's office.

  There ... just about there ... by the rheostats, where the four redlights and the two green made a baleful pattern against the black metalskin. He felt it stronger than ever this time, something reaching andsinister aimed solely at him. He skirted the place with a quick gooseyhop, stumbled a little and felt panic, but made it all right to theoffice.

  Beardsley hated these moments. He was still trembling as he made ahurried entrance. Sure enough, as if on cue Jeff Arnold glanced up fromhis charts and grinned.

  "Ah, good morning, Beardsley! Now don't tell me our pet goo--uh--snappedat you again?"

  It was the routine remark, but today Arnold was immediately contrite fora change. "Sorry," he said, and a certain weariness replaced the grin.He gestured to the alco-mech. "Can I dial you a drink? Feel in need ofone myself!"

  "Eleven-C," said Beardsley, and slumped into the pneumo-chair. Arnoldrose and dialled 11-C, handed him the drink and dialled 9-R for himself.Sipping it, he moved around the desk.

  There was something very strange and preoccupied in his movements,Beardsley thought, more than a mere tiredness. He had never seen Arnoldthis way.

  "Yes sir, this is the day!" A muscle twitched in his corded neck; Arnoldeased his long frame into a chair, rubbed thumb and forefinger at hiseyes. "Been up half the night running off clearance tests. Can't affordto foul up on this one!"

  Beardsley tossed off his drink and blinked at the fiery strength of it.Now why should Arnold say that? When had ECAIAC ever fouled up? Hewatched the man across the desk. Jeff Arnold was a vigorous, strikingspecimen, handsome in an athletic way, with long stubborn jaw andunhappy gray eyes beneath his unruly hair; the sort of face thatintrigues women, Beardsley catalogued from past experience. And, headded, altogether too young a man to be operating a monster like ECAIAC.

  * * * * *

  Arnold indicated the empty glass. "Another?"

  "No, I think not," Beardsley replied carefully.

  Arnold hesitated, eyeing the briefcase in Beardsley's clutch. "It's beenrough on you, too, I imagine. Hope there aren't more than thirtyvariants! We're set up for more, of course, but it'll necessitate--"

  "Twenty-two," Beardsley assured him. Carefully, he spread the coded andsealed _persona-tapes_ across the desk. "Fresh from Citizen-FileAugment, everything annotated and cross-checked. Blood-count, emotionalstasis, plethora, psycho-geneological index, neuro-thalamicimbalance--every type factor is here. We really went to the Files onthis case."

  "Looks as if you did! How does it narrow down?"

  "Fifteen possibles, four Logicals and three Primes--" Beardsley stoppedabruptly. (That news-caster: how had he known there were three Primes?This stuff was not supposed to leak!) "Twenty-two who _knew_ Carmack,"he went on. "That includes associational as well as motive-opportunityfactors, with a probability sphere of .004...."

  Arnold nodded thoughtfully; his fingers moved unconscious and caressingacross the edge of the desk. "Yes, I see. That's close! Good job," hesaid uncertainly.

  "Should be! Seven weeks for annotation and code." Beardsley was watchingArnold's fingers; there was something aimless and fretful as they pushedamong the code-sealed tapes. Beardsley made his voice casual. "If itinterests you," he said, "yes--you are there."

  * * * * *

  He wanted a reaction and he got it.

  "Me!" Arnold stiffened, pulled his fingers away hastily.

  "That surprises you? Don't worry, you're not one of the Primes; probablybe rejected on the first run. It's just that you once knew Carmackrather well. Cal Tech, wasn't it, when Carmack was doing his specialwork on magnetronics? Naturally you've had contact since, due to thenature of your job."

  Arnold nodded, frowning. "That's right. It just hadn't occurred to methat--"

  Beardsley realized that he wasn't lying. _It was not the thought of hisown tape that bothered Arnold._

  "Oh, we're thorough over at 'Cooerdinates Division!'" Beardsley laughed,making a minor joke of it. "Now here," he touched a spool labelled inred, "is your Basic Invariant. Carmack--Amos T. Murdered man. Foundbludgeoned in library of his home, night of April 4. Age 56, held alloutstanding patents on ECAIAC, worth millions, and"--he looked up,beaming--"leaves beautiful wife."

  He paused for the merest moment. Save for a soft drumming of fingers onthe desk, Arnold was silent.

  "And here's a sub-Basic: Mrs. Carmack will be a rich woman now. She wasconsiderably younger than Carmack--and she's been having an affair withanother man." Beardsley smiled at Jeff Arnold. "That's a sociologicalnote beyond our sphere, but we managed to get the data. I'll bet thedepartment was appalled that such a gorgeous woman could be resolvedinto neo-Euclidian equations!"

  "Why?" Arnold was suddenly irritable. "It's been done a thousand timesbefore!"

  "Of course," shrugged Beardsley. "And it's really up to ECAIAC, isn'tit? A Prime can be negated, while on the other hand a variant can shiftfrom possible to Logical to Prime. Or am I wrong? I've never been up onthe mechanics."

  Arnold grunted. "There's bound to be some correlatory shift! ThePrimes--how many did you say?"

  "Three as of now."

  Arnold rose abruptly, then strode to the alco-mech and dialled himselfanother drink. He took an uncommonly long time about it. "Look," hesaid, "we both know about these things! In a case like this there arebound to be political repercussions--" He hit Beardsley with a gaugingglance. "Well," he blurted, "I have to admit I'm damn curious! Mindtelling me who are the three Primes? Ah--strictly off the record, youunderstand."

  Beardsley had expected something like this, and he was quite ready toanswer; but he carefully removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of hisnose and frowned. "Well, now...."

  "Come on, give! I know it's against protocol and all that ... but hell!We'll have the answer anyway in a matter of hours."

  Beardsley nodded with a show of thoughtfulness. "Yes, that's true, isn'tit? Very well. But s
trictly off the record! I warn you--not only willthe first Prime startle you, but the information could be dangerous!"

  He waited a moment, then he leaned forward and whispered: "Mandleco!"

  * * * * *

  For a moment Arnold didn't move. His face was ludicrous. Then Beardsleysaw his hands clench.

  "Mandleco!" the word jolted from his lips. "George Mandleco, Minister ofJustice? I don't believe you!"

  "It's a fact," Beardsley told him. "Right now he equates into anuncertain Prime."

  "Yes, yes ... but Mandleco! Good Lord...."

  "I said _uncertain_ Prime. As you mentioned yourself, there is sure tobe a shift of variants. Surely you have faith in ECAIAC?"

  "Of course! But Mandleco, why Mandleco?"

  "Why not? He was a friend of Carmack's--or a business associate shall wesay? He worked with Carmack on the ECAIAC lobby, was largely responsiblefor pushing it through."

  "Yes, I--say, that's right! It would be in C-F...."

  "There are things," murmured Beardsley, "in Central File that wouldastound you."

  Arnold was staring at the coded tapes. "Mandleco," he breathed. "Andwith elections coming up!" He shook himself out of the daze. "The--theother two Primes?"

  "Next is not so startling. A really strong Recessive Factor there ...Professor Karl Losch."

  Arnold jerked erect suddenly. "Losch? Say, I remember him! Now _there's_a man pursued by bad luck. He was working along similar lines toCarmack--in fact, wasn't he in Carmack's employ for a while?--butCarmack was first with the patents. You don't suppose that Losch--"

  "I'm not supposed to suppose," Beardsley said softly. "But clinically,it is interesting to note that motive factor alone equates Losch fromLogical into Prime. _Plus_ a high neuro-thalamic imbalance--132 over 80on the last Index, with pronounced efforts at suppression."

  He watched Arnold absorb that, and went on: "Now for the third Prime. Ithink it'll interest you...."

  * * * * *

  He waited deliberately. He looked at Jeff Arnold for a long moment andsaw that the man was calm. Too calm. So absolutely motionless that itwasn't real.

  "Third Prime. A strong one, believe me. In a way most interesting ofall." He pressed the words out slowly and flatly. "The third Prime,"said Beardsley, "is ... Pederson."

  He watched Arnold relax ever so slowly, leaning back, the tension goingaway as he uncoiled in the chair; but the young man's face wasn't somuch relieved as it was puzzled.

  "Pederson. Pederson? I don't seem to--You can't mean _Brook_ Pederson,the one-time tele-columnist?"

  "None other. I don't suppose you remember, but back in '60 he opposedthe ECAIAC lobby. I mean _opposed_ it, _fought_ it! Predicted thatGovernment installation of such a machine would not inspire confidence,that the nation's crime rate would rise ... he saw nothing but chaos.For a while there he was quite a man. Got himself a following. Hadambitions."

  "But I do remember it!" Arnold thumped the desk. "Of course! Pedersonheaded a bloc against 'Carmack's Folly,' but he backed the wrong horse,and when the bubble burst he was out in the cold. Became a laughingstock." Arnold paused, and his glance held something of shrewdness and alivening challenge. "Actually, Pederson couldn't have been more wrong.In those first two years ECAIAC reduced the crime-rate by some fortypercent."

  "So it's claimed!" This was a sore point and Beardsley rose to the bait."It couldn't be that crime was on the down-grade already? I could showyou plenty of statistics that--why, I could show you methods--"

  "I'll just bet you could." Arnold gave a thin tolerant smile. "I refuseto enter _that argument_ again, not with you, Beardsley. I for one trustin machines not in evolution. I've told you before...."

  * * * * *

  And Beardsley found himself sitting there with a flush of heat at hishair-roots, half-angry and half foolish as he realized how he had beenbaited.

  Jeff Arnold was abruptly all business. He plunged his finger at abutton, spoke into the intercom. "Joe! How's that test-run coming?"

  "All-X so far! Give us ten minutes for clearance."

  "Take twenty, but make sure it's _clearance_. Checked Quantitative, haveyou? How about feed-backs? ... yes ... what's that? Semantic circuits!Hell yes, check _all_ synaptics for clearance! I want no excess datafouling up this run!"

  He clicked off and sat there moodily, and Beardsley watched him, notingthe quick nervous rhythm of Arnold's fingers. Arnold noticed it, too,and desisted.

  "Look," he said. "Mandleco, Losch, Pederson. Those three Primes justdon't make sense to me!"

  "They don't?" Beardsley allowed just the proper note of resentment."Surely you are not questioning Cooerdinates...."

  "You know I'm not! But--"

  Beardsley waited, knowing it was coming now. The thing Arnold had beenaching to voice for the past five minutes.

  "But--well, damn it, there is _Mrs._ Carmack, for example. As youpointed out yourself, she'll be a rich woman now! It would seem to me--"

  "That she'd be a Prime? I'm surprised at you, Jeff; that's ancientthinking." If there was a trace of sarcasm, it was lost on Arnold. "Oh,I grant you it used to hold true--principle beneficiary was always primesuspect. Fiction especially was full of it. Queen, Dickson Carr, Boucheryou--know the ilk. But with ECAIAC we've gotten away from all that,haven't we?"

  Arnold stared at him suspiciously, hesitated, then brought it out withan effort. "Well--how _did_ she equate?"

  "Who? Oh yes, the beautiful widow. She only made Logical, and even thatis borderline."

  "I see." Arnold rose, dialled himself another drink, then changed hismind and put it down untouched. He turned to gather up the tapes, andhis voice was apologetic.

  "It's not that I'd ever questioned Cooerdinates Division! We're tooclosely aligned for that, Raoul...." (_First time he's ever used myfirst name_, thought Beardsley.) "You have a splendid record to uphold,as we do here at Mechanical. That's why ... well, I want to get this offas smoothly as possible!"

  Something indefinable, a queasy feeling, took Beardsley about themiddle. He said sharply: "Any reason why not?"

  "No, not really. But in recent weeks--I tell you this in strictestconfidence, understand!--in recent weeks it's been a rather ticklishthing to get total synaptic clearance."

  * * * * *

  Synaptics? Beardsley began thinking back to the Crime-Central "RequiredAnnual Basic." The Mechanical had never been his strong point. He saiduncertainly, "But--that's serious!"

  "It's just that we've found ECAIAC holding back excess data fromprevious runs. Fouls up the relays, takes hours to iron out theclearance." Arnold gave him a keen look. "More of a nuisance really,but the weirdest thing. Stubborn!"

  _Stubborn._ Beardsley could have thought of a better word. Through thepanelled glass he glimpsed the black metal sheathe of the monster outthere, the shapeless crouching and malevolent winking lights, and hefelt himself going to pieces inside with a sudden shaking crumble; hehated himself for it but he couldn't stop it; his hands clenched untilthe knuckles showed white.

  "... matter of time until we find the cause," Arnold was saying, "but Iguarantee total clearance _today_. Shall we get on with it?" Handsloaded with tapes, he moved for the door.

  "No!" Beardsley cried. "Arnold, if you don't mind, I--"

  "Oh, for God's sake, not again! Raoul, I swear I'm going to do somethingabout this phobia of yours; it's getting to be not so funny any more."With a show of exasperation, Arnold propelled him through the door. "Igive you my absolute word our pet won't snap at you. Not today. It'sgoing to be far too busy for the likes of you!"

  * * * * *

  And Jeff Arnold was right, Beardsley discovered. Those baleful overtoneswere gone, replaced by a sustained soft whisper along the ninety-foothull--a rather impatient whisper but not at all unpleasant. Beardsleyrelaxed by slow degrees, but kept a cautious distance, while Arnoldpointed out every lig
ht along the length flashing green for TotalClearance.

  "She's rarin' to go," said Arnold with a display of good humor, "butwe'll let her wait a while, eh?" He clapped a friendly arm acrossBeardsley's shoulder. "You just come along now and watch; I think yourtrouble is, you've never been properly introduced! We'll have no more ofthis feudin' and fussin' between you and ECAIAC."

  So Beardsley, showing more courage than he felt, trailed thecyberneticist through every unit of final check-up. Much of it he knewalready from the "Required Annual Basic" ... or thought he knew. Forthis was so different from the Manuals! He felt at once ashamed and awedas he viewed at first hand the unfolding schematic structure. He wasthrilled at sight of the selectors and analyzers of processed beryllium,the logic-and-semantic circuits in complex little bundles, thesensitized variant-tapes waiting for transferral impress, all revealedby a flick of Arnold's fingers that threw open